The Babysitter

by Liza Rodman

  It was hotter and more humid than usual, even for Cape Cod in the summer. Everything on the Cape was always damp—our cereal was soggy, our crackers were limp, and our bathing suits and beach towels never dried out completely; within a few days of the summer’s start, they smelled moldy and stayed that way.

  “Whoa,” Tony said, seeing the orange syrup all over our faces and hands. “Can’t get in the truck all sticky. Here, let me clean you up.”

  He tore off two paper towels, and with one in each hand began wiping gently at our faces. We both stood, faces raised to him, while he dabbed at our cheeks and chins, occasionally moistening the paper towels with the tip of his tongue.

  “Now hold out your hands,” he said, and then he carefully wiped each of our fingers until he was satisfied there was no syrup left on them.

  “Okay! Nice and clean. Now you can get in the truck.”

  We clambered up and sat happily back against the seat, feeling the hot vinyl through our shirts and against our bare legs, as he climbed in after us and started the engine. “We’re off!” he said, reaching down to turn on the radio.

  At the dump, he emptied the motel’s garbage from the truck and swept the bed clean of remaining scraps and dirt.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked as he climbed back into the truck.

  “What kind of secret? Another Popsicle?” Louisa said, bouncing up and down on the seat.

  I pinched her hard and gave her a stern look as a silent warning to not say something stupid and make him change his mind about sharing his secret.

  “Ouch! Whaddya do that for?” she said, rubbing her leg where a little red welt was rising.

  “I’m a good secret keeper,” I said, ignoring her and turning back to Tony. “Timmy Johnson says I’m the best secret keeper in third grade. What’s your secret?”

  Tony reached over and pulled free a curl of my hair that had gotten stuck to my cheek. I tried not to blush but could feel my cheeks getting hot. He put his hand back on the steering wheel.

  “It’s something I’ve got in the woods, out by the cemetery. I only show it to my closest pals and chicks. Wanna see it?”

  Louisa and I both nodded so eagerly Tony laughed. “You look like a couple of bobblehead dolls,” he said.

  I loved it when Tony laughed.

  We left the dump, and instead of turning right and heading toward the Royal Coachman, we sped up Route 6 toward Truro and onto a back road I’d never been on before. I looked at Tony to make sure he knew where he was going. He caught my glance, reached over, patted my knee, and smiled. I smiled back. When the road came to a dead end, I thought he must have gotten lost and wondered how he was going to turn the truck around in so small a space. But instead of slowing down, he revved the engine and drove down a small embankment, which put us on a dirt path, invisible from the road we had been on.

  “Wow! You really know your way around these woods,” I said.

  Tony smiled. “I sure do.”

  We drove slowly, the pickup rocking on the rutted path. When we hit a big pothole, it sent both Louisa and me flying off the long bench seat, nearly hitting our heads on the roof.

  “Hold on, kiddos!” Tony laughed, wrestling the long gearshift back and forth, knocking into my left leg when he did. The pickup pitched and groaned as he ground it into a lower gear.

  I looked at Louisa to make sure she was okay. She was, but I could see she was sweating from the heat and wished Tony hadn’t interrupted our game of marbles to take us on a hot, bumpy drive through the woods. She was seven that summer and had developed a nervous habit of rubbing her fingertips together, as if she were spreading pinches of salt on her food with both hands. As we drove along, her fingers were fluttering away in her lap. I reached into my pocket and pulled out her favorite marble and handed it to her. She didn’t even get mad that I had stolen it; she just smiled and began rolling it in her fingers.

  The air inside the truck was thick and had only gotten thicker once we left the highway. I’d never been into woods so deep I couldn’t see through the trees; they blocked all direct sunlight, and in some places their branches scraped the truck’s doors. It felt as if we were rocking through a tunnel of green straw. I’d been surrounded by water and salt and sand and seagulls for so long, it took me a few moments to realize how odd it was to be in a place without any sign of the ocean. And there were no tourists, no motel guests, no beachcombers—no one. We were alone with Tony. A special adventure.

  “It’s hot in here,” Louisa complained from her side of the truck’s seat. I narrowed my eyes at her and clenched my teeth like Mom always did.

  “Shut up!” I hissed.

  “Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Tony said, and sure enough, a few bumps later he stopped the truck in a small opening in the thicket of trees and turned off the engine.

  “Is this where the secret is?” I asked, twisting around, trying to see something. But there were only trees.

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” Tony said, opening his door and pocketing the keys. He got out and held the door open so I could slide across the seat and hop down. Then he reached into the cab and picked up Louisa under her arms, swinging her out and placing her feet on the ground.

  Tony led us through the woods, holding branches aside so we wouldn’t get hit in the face as they snapped back into place. I looked up through the trees and could just barely see a patch of blue through the canopy of green.

  So the sky is still up there somewhere, I thought.

  We came to a clearing in the woods, about the size of the RC’s pool, and Tony stopped.

  “Here it is!”

  I looked at where he was pointing, but all I saw was a small patch of dirt, a mound, really, with a few scraggly plants sticking out the top of it and a bunch of pine needles and leaves.

  “I’m hot,” Louisa said, by now almost crying.

  I ignored her.

  “What is it?” I asked, not wanting to insult him by asking, “Is that it?”

  “It’s my secret garden!” He grinned.

  I knew gardens, and this didn’t look like one. Grampa Georgie, now he knew about gardens, and because he taught me, so did I. For the very first time since I’d met him, I felt a little sorry for Tony. I couldn’t understand why he thought these shriveled stalks were something to show off.

  “It’s really nice,” I lied.

  “Where’s the surprise?” Louisa asked, wiping sweat from her brow. I think she was still hoping for another Popsicle.

  Tony knelt in the dirt and pulled a couple of tiny weeds from the base of one of the plants, then picked off a couple of the larger leaves and stuffed them in his breast pocket.

  “What did you plant?” I asked.

  He put his finger to his lips. “That’s what we have to keep secret!” Tony said, his smile so big and his mouth so wide I could see his back teeth. I couldn’t help smiling too. I liked that he trusted me.

  “Wait here,” he said, and stood up. He walked over to a big pine tree at the edge of the clearing, squatted down, dug around with his fingers, and pulled something out of the dirt. But then he seemed to change his mind and quickly reburied it. I couldn’t see what it was, but when he walked back over to where we stood, his head hung down so that his chin almost touched his chest. He looked so unhappy.

  “It was my father’s,” he said. “It’s one of the only things I have of his.”

  “What was it?” I said, looking back toward the tree.

  Tony just shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Louisa shifted from foot to foot as if she had to pee, while I stood still, waiting for what was next. I hoped he’d turn toward the truck and tell us it was time to get back home. I wanted to get out of there and back on the main road, where I could smell the ocean and feel the breeze, where I could take a deep breath. But he didn’t seem to want to leave.

  “Come here,” he said, walking over to another mound of dirt. “I’ll show you a better secret. I’ve got lots of them. Come a
little closer.”

  I thought we were already close enough, so I didn’t move. Tony looked at me and slowly smiled. He seemed to be over his sadness. “Come on,” he said, waving us closer. “I won’t bite.”

  Suddenly I felt nervous flutters in my stomach. Without thinking why, I reached down and took Louisa’s hand, and we took a step closer. The ground felt soft under my feet, squishy almost. I looked down, and I could see that unlike the earth around it, this little garden had freshly dug dirt and all the leaves and pine needles had been swept off it.

  This was the first time an adventure with Tony was becoming less and less fun. In fact, I was done with the garden. I wanted to go home. But Tony wasn’t ready to leave.

  “I just love it out here,” he said, sitting back on a pile of leaves. “Sometimes I wish I could live out here, near my garden.”

  “But why do you keep it way out here?” I said. “Why not closer to town, or behind the Royal Coachman? There’s plenty of room there for a garden.”

  Tony sat back on his heels and chuckled.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I need this garden to be secret. I don’t want anyone but my best cats and chicks to know where it is.”

  “But couldn’t it be a secret in town?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “My mom says that too,” I said. Suddenly, and for the first time, I was irritated with Tony. There was something about his expression, kind of a half smile, that wasn’t very nice.

  “Let’s go, okay?” I said, stepping away from his little garden and pulling Louisa with me.

  Tony stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. “I promise I’ll tell you why it’s a secret when you’re a little bit older. Until then, don’t tell anybody about it, okay? I can trust you, can’t I, Liza?” He reached out his hand for a shake.

  I felt a rush of heat go through me as he took my hand in his. “Yes. I promise not to tell anyone. She won’t either,” I said, nodding at Louisa.

  He gave my hand a little squeeze and a shake. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “I’ve always liked you.”

  I bit my lip and lowered my head so he couldn’t see me blush.

  27 TONY

  By August, Tony could breathe a sigh of relief. His job at Starline Construction was going well; he had worked there for nearly two months, a record for him, and he was finally out of Provincetown. But while he was working steadily for one of the first times in his life, his old bad habits refused to die, and his girlfriend Croakie realized he had no intention of growing up and giving up his drug dealing and use. As with most of his girlfriends, Tony had resisted having sexual intercourse with her, preferring instead to lie naked in bed, comforted by the warm body next to his. Avis later said that he preferred to just sleep with a woman because it helped soothe his terrifying dreams and even-worse violent imaginings. If Tony was “actually balling a chick,” Avis could immediately tell because he would find fault with the woman and soon think of ways to “get rid of her.”1

  True to this pattern, soon after he and Croakie finally had sex sometime in late August, they broke up.

  With Croakie out of the picture, Tony filled the Dedham apartment with his harem of Provincetown teenagers, girls and boys, all eager for a place to drink beer, do drugs, and have sex, away from the watchful eyes of Provincetown, where everybody knew everybody else’s business. When Tony or one of the kids wanted to try a drug they didn’t have on hand, they’d take the bus into Boston and score something on the Common.

  One weekend, the Provincetown group brought along Susan Perry, the rebellious and insecure girl about whom the librarian, Alice Joseph, had worried. Alice’s concerns proved well-founded. After a year of raising her five younger siblings while her father was at sea, Susan had had enough and in July 1968 quit school and left home. She was not yet eighteen. Her father’s response was “good riddance.” At first, she stayed in staff housing at the Royal Coachman, where she worked as a chambermaid, but the arrangement didn’t last long. In her rebellion, she had gained a reputation as a “wild kid” with “round heels” who’d go with any boy just to feel fleeting moments of being wanted and liked. But her friends believed that she slept wherever and with whomever she needed to in order to survive. Hoping that Tony might finally be a safe haven, Susan approached him to ask if she could crash at his apartment.

  She found him in the small kitchen making dinner: peanut butter on Ritz crackers.

  “Gee, I feel kinda bad barging in on you like this,” Susan said, looking up at him as she nibbled the edge of a cracker.

  “It’s okay with me,” he said. “You’ll just have to share my bed, I guess.” Then, giving her his best smile, added, “You are like a little kid chick. Stay here with Sire and you will learn.”2

  Susan was thrilled.

  Later, when he wrote of the exchange, Tony’s pious vanity was never more apparent: “You mustn’t feel funny,” he reportedly told Susan. “Too many live for themselves, but I live for God and my fellow man.”3

  As they talked, Susan told him that she had finally run away from home, even though “my father said if I left home to never return.” She hoped she would never have to. Unlike Tony’s more steady girlfriends, Susan and Tony had sex that first night, after which she told a girlfriend, “I hope Tony will like me now.”

  In the morning, Tony went to work and she got nosy, poking through his drawers and closets, looking for evidence of another girlfriend. Instead, she found the .22-caliber revolver he had bought from Cory Devereaux in the bedside table. She carefully put it back, wondering why on Earth Tony would need a gun.

  28 LIZA

  One Saturday toward the end of the summer, Tony came back into town and Auntie asked him to run a load of the RC’s trash to the dump. Always on the lookout, I ran across the street when I saw him and asked if I could go along. Louisa was taking a rare nap, so I was on my own. Soon he and I were headed toward town. As he drove, he reached across my knees to push in the cigarette lighter, and when it popped out, he lit a cigarette, smiled, and handed it to me. After three summers of my begging, he said now that I was going to be ten soon I was old enough to learn how to smoke. I took the cigarette from his fingers, took a huge drag the way my mother always did, and coughed so hard I nearly threw up. Tony patted my back and laughed. He took the cigarette out of my fingers, and I watched him slowly place it between his lips. He looked up, caught me staring at his lips, and smiled.

  “Hey, did I ever show you the oldest gravestone out in the Pine Grove Cemetery?” he said.

  “No! How old is it?”

  “So old you can’t even read the date. But at least one hundred, one hundred and fifty years. Let’s go take a look. Your mom isn’t expecting you back, is she?”

  “Nope!” I said, almost chirping I was so happy.

  When we got to the cemetery there wasn’t much to see. As Tony had said, the stone was old and rounded, and whatever words had once been carved into it were all but erased.

  “It’s erosion from the wind and rain,” Tony said, standing next to me. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “How do you know this is the oldest one?” I asked, waving my arm at the rows of tombstones all around us.

  “Oh, I’ve been coming out here since I was a kid, like you,” he said, his fingers running lightly across the stone. “I’ve even slept out here.”

  “Really? Isn’t it scary?” I asked, looking at the small mounds in front of the graves and suddenly picturing old dead Joe Rose from my grandfather’s funeral parlor in the ground at my feet. “Aren’t you afraid sleeping with all these dead people under you?”

  Tony put his head back, filled his lungs with air, and slowly exhaled.

  “Nope. I love it.” He looked down at me. “Maybe it’s just something you have to get used to.”

  * * *

  As we drove back into town, Tony talked pretty much nonstop, telling me stories I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else. About how he might be moving to California soon, and ho
w he’d once driven there in thirty-six hours straight without stopping and then turned right around and came home, thanks to his special vitamins. He talked without a break, more to himself than to me, the subjects rambling all over the place, while he chewed his fingernails and gum at the same time—covering subjects from his lousy stepfather, to rotten Avis, who was a lousy mother who never took baths, to his kids, who always seemed to be sick and dirty and crying, to his stupid boss, who didn’t understand that he sometimes stayed up all night worrying about the kids and couldn’t get to work on time. He got so wrapped up in his stories that he pulled out his comb and instead of combing his hair, he ran it across his arm back and forth, hard enough to leave deep scratches. I wondered if he had eczema like me.

  “Tony, does your arm itch?” I asked. He looked down at the red scratches; some had little droplets of blood in them. He quickly put the comb back in his pocket and brushed at his arm, streaking the blood with his hand.

  “Shit,” he said. “Blood totally freaks me out. I must have got a mosquito bite.” He spit on his finger and quickly wiped away the blood.

  29 TONY

  Tony was scheduled to work through Friday of Labor Day weekend, so Susan Perry left Tony’s Dedham apartment and took the bus to Provincetown on her own. She left him a note saying that she’d be back on Monday with more of her things. Once in Provincetown and wanting to avoid running into her father, whom she had not spoken to since leaving home in July, she asked two girlfriends to go to her house and pack some of her meager belongings.

  Susan spent much of the weekend sleeping on the beach in the rain, doing drugs, and looking around town for Tony, but she didn’t find him; he was holed up with Christine Gallant, the pretty woman from Fall River.